


As Long as You Love Me

by Bluebluebaby



Category: The Good Fight (TV)
Genre: F/F, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-13 02:41:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10504749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebluebaby/pseuds/Bluebluebaby
Summary: Maia/Amy- Law School.(or, why Ted is such a ball of whiny manpain.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yes, that title is a Backstreet Boys reference! 
> 
> I'm hell of frustrated at the portrayal (or lack thereof) of Amy and Maia's relationship on the Good Fight, so I've been fleshing the backstory out in my head. Thought maybe some of y'all would like to join me on the journey.

Maia wasn’t really much of a liar before she met Ted.

 

In the end, she owes him that much credit.

 

Before, it had always taken effort to work up the nerve, to craft the words satisfactorily ahead of time. But with Ted, they’re out before she can stop them.

 

_“That sounds nice.”_

 

_“I’d love to.”_

 

_“I love you.”_

 

Two years in, she can’t tell where the lies stop and she begins.

 

(Or rather, she tries very hard not to.)

 

But today might be the first time a lie has ever felt liberating.

 

“It just makes more sense, academically.”

 

Ted frowns, arms crossing defensively.

 

“But wouldn’t living together save money?”

 

She gives him a blank stare.

 

“That… is not really a problem.”

 

(And, they _never_ talk about it- such is the benefit of exorbitant wealth, but if she has to play dirty this time, so be it.)

 

“And, I found a roommate, close to the law school, so, doubly not a problem.”

 

He’s irritated, but, fortunately more prone to passive-aggression than angry outbursts.

 

“So, I just tell everyone that we’re not living together because you’ll flunk out of 1L otherwise?”

 

“Exactly,” she grins, leaning into a coyness she doesn’t quite fully feel.

 

“If we lived together, you’d just be compelled to shoot me all the time, and neither of us would ever get anything productive done.”

 

He follows her lead, arms relaxing as he leans back on the couch, knees wide, taking up most of the space.

 

“I don’t think art is unproductive, Maia. And you, are, beyond a doubt, art.”

 

Ted leans in to kiss her, and she happily obliges, elated that she’s managed to both get her way, and avoid crushing his ego entirely.

_ 

Sex is probably the easiest part of the whole thing- it feels good enough, and it feels _great_ to be wanted for her body, as anti-feminist as it sounds in her head.

 

But somehow Maia went from innocent, overprotected child to notoriously rich girl on campus with very little genuine notice paid to her.

 

Ted wants to be a real artist, and real artists have muses.

 

So, one awkward house party, two nice enough dates, and hundreds of photographs later, here they are.

 

He falls asleep, after.

 

She lifts his dead arm, showers off the scent of cologne and sweat, and wonders why it’s so difficult to hurt someone you don’t even particularly like anymore.

_

 

Ted insists on helping her move.

 

John gives him a bit of side-eye, and pulls her into the kitchen while he’s lugging a box of books upstairs.

 

“Not to be a bitchy queen immediately upon making your acquaintance, but I did not sign up for living with _two_ roommates. One sleepover a week, _max.”_

 

She’d rather not have Ted be her introduction to John- he’s certainly better than the average frat boy, but he definitely has his fair share of fragile masculinity moments.

 

“Everything okay, babe?”

 

( _Babe?_ He has literally never called her babe.)

 

“Yeah, we’re just going over ground rules for common spaces,” Maia calls back to him.

 

John raises an eyebrow.

“It’s fine. He’s very attached to his bed, anyways. I should probably-”

 

He waves her off, returning his attention to his french press.

 

Ninety minutes later and the bedframe and bookshelf are finally assembled. Ted flops down onto her full mattress, wiping sweat from his brow.

 

“Thanks for your help.”

 

“Hey, a man has to be useful every now and then, right?”

 

He glances at his watch, suddenly alert.

 

“Shit- I’m gonna be late if I don’t haul ass. I’ll text you later.”

 

Maia takes a moment to breathe in her new space. She’d gone purposefully thrifty, out of spite, but the apartment is tidy, and as well-decorated as one can be with IKEA furniture.

 

Fortunately, Ted had worked as an excellent excuse against hiring movers, much to her mother’s chagrin. She’s already pretty darn aware of her privilege, thank you.

 

The work of carrying her belongings catches up to her, and she returns to the kitchen for a glass of water. John is at the coffee table, Left hand typing on his laptop while his right texts blindly.

 

“I know who you are,” he states, not looking up from the screen.

 

“Yeah… I figured anyone reasonable would do a quick chumhum search,” Maia concedes, shrugging and sitting on the vacant sofa.

 

“What’s this about then? Guilt? Rebellion?”

 

He lingers on the last word, faux-salaciousness coloring his voice.

 

She smirks.

 

“No, actually, I thought being around other law students would motivate me. I thrive on competition.”

 

John snorts.

 

“Good thing you’re two years behind me, huh tiger?”

 

Maia rolls her eyes.

 

“You’re not the only one with a search engine. No one with your resume could be considered unmotivated in the slightest.”

 

(It was impressive- the stuff law school application dreams are made of. Summa Cum Laude at NYU, president of the LGBTQ student union, immigration rights activist, intern with the mayor’s office… Maia had done well by all standards at Northwestern, but her surname certainly hasn’t hurt her chances of admission to Chicago.)

  
  


“Thank you. I do pride myself on working hard, but you should know, that I party hard as well. And as such, I will be hosting a welcome-back party this weekend for all the assholes who interned in D.C. and New York this summer. Consider yourself warned.”

 

Maia wrinkles her nose.

 

“Do you call all your friends assholes?”

 

“Only the assholes. But it’s law school, so yeah, most of them are.”

 

_

 

Friday afternoon, Maia’s distracted from an attempt at studying by the doorbell. John is in the shower, so, although she’s certain it’s not for her, she answers.

 

“I swear I’ve been here before- do I have the wrong door?”

 

An infuriatingly beautiful blonde looks at her quizzically.

 

(Her hair has a side-part generally achieved only by carelessly running a hand through one’s hair, and somehow ending up looking like a supermodel. Maia has never felt more mousy in her life.)

 

“You’re here for John? I’m his new roommate.”

 

She extends a hand awkwardly, before realizing she’s keeping her guest outside for no reason.

She ushers her inside, clearing her throat awkwardly.

 

“Sorry. I’m Maia, by the way.”

 

“Amy.”

 

The blonde smiles, eyes sparkling like there’s some sort of cosmic joke Maia has yet to be let in on.

 

“Um, John is in the shower but he should be out soon, can I get you water or something?”

 

Maia is used to talking to small talk.

 

A pro, even.

 

She’s shaken so many hands, attended so many events, that small talk is nothing.

 

But now, her hands are clammy, her mouth dry, her eyes glued to the floor.

 

If every day of law school is like this, she is absolutely _fucked._

 

“I’ll just chill out for a minute on the couch, it’s fine,” Amy assures her, craning her neck to meet Maia’s shy gaze.

 

Maia offers a thin lipped smile before making an excuse.

 

“I’ll let him know you’re here when I head upstairs.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Just as she turns to go, softly,

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Maia.”

 

“Likewise,” she mutters, before scampering up the steps to pound on the bathroom door.

 

Maia busies herself with picking an outfit for tomorrow.

 

Or rather, she pretends to, as she eavesdrops on the conversation downstairs.

 

“Your roommate seems nice.”

 

John giggles.

 

“She’s a bit of a strange bird, but yeah, she definitely won’t skip out on rent like Steven did. Or not clean her bathroom for six months.”

 

“You have terribly high standards.”

 

“Says the woman who literally sold off everything she owned so she wouldn’t have to take a roommate.”

 

“Never said mine weren’t higher.”

 

“Maia's fine. I think she might even be funny if we get her drunk enough. Her boyfriend seems… yikes, but I think he already hates me so he’ll probably avoid hanging out here.”

 

“You do have a wonderful talent for repelling straight men.”

 

“Isn’t that the only reason we’re friends?”

 

“Ride or die,” Amy laughs, as the door closes behind them.

 

Maia sets her pearls on top of the dresser, and closes her eyes.

 

Her heart’s racing, chest rapidly rising and falling. A feeling not unlike panic descends.

 

Her phone rings.

 

“Maia! How is the new place? Are you ready for class to start? Have I told you how proud I am of you, honey?”

 

“Yes, mom. Last week. Thank you. And the new place is fine.

  
Everything is fine.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Homophobic slurs, yelling, str8 white cis dude being awful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh i just couldn't bear to have ted around any longer
> 
> sorry if my misandry disrupts the pacing

The first week of class isn’t that bad, actually. 

 

Maia’s always been good with information dumps- she’s perfectly content to take notes furiously, and read and reread until the inside of her eyelids burn with torts and civil procedure. 

 

And, for better or for worse, none of her classmates thus far have had the paralyzing effects of Amy. Sure, they’re all brilliant, and competitive, and used to being the star of every class, but Maia’s spent most of her life surrounded by the products of privilege. 

 

It’s nothing new. 

 

She’d just as soon go unnoticed until exams roll around, but it’s early yet. 

 

Regardless, she’s pretty thoroughly exhausted by the time the weekend rolls around. 

 

Maia is out the door before John’s “legendary debauchery” can commence. She’d promised her mother she’d help with hostess duties tonight. Ted’s meeting her at the house; apparently he’s “too busy” to order around caterers and cheek kiss business acquaintances as they arrive. 

 

He does do pretty well at these things, though, turning on a faux charm that delights the movers and shakers that have known Maia since she was in diapers. 

 

Everyone asks about law school, naturally, and Ted jokes that of course, she’ll be the breadwinner, and maybe he ought to work on his hosting skills- is Lenore giving lessons? 

 

(He manages to slip quite a few business cards in the hands of hipper guests.) 

 

It’s comforting to be home, even if her parents’ attention is divided from her. 

 

Towards the end of the night, Ted pulls her aside. 

 

“Do you wanna get out of here? We can swing by tomorrow and get your car.” 

 

It’s not really a question so much as an expectation. Maia bristles. 

 

“I think I should stay and help out mom and dad.” 

 

He doesn’t buy it. 

 

“Yes, I’m sure the help will be thrilled that the daughter of the house wants to stoop to their level.” 

 

Maia sighs. 

 

“Look, Ted, I’m exhausted. All I want to do is sleep. And study. And sleep some more. I think you should go home alone tonight.” 

 

He throws up his hands, clearly frustrated. 

 

“So what? You brought me here to be a fucking beard? Is that what I am?” 

 

She winces at his unintended accuracy before steeling herself. 

 

“You got some new clients, didn’t you? Not a total waste of an evening.” 

“Jesus, Maia. You’re a piece of fucking work.” 

 

She bites her lip to keep it from quavering. 

 

“Have a good night, Ted.” 

 

He storms off, sneaking out the back door and revving his engine a little too loud. 

 

Maia closes her eyes and leans against the hall, before straightening her spine at the sound of footsteps. Her father has always had a second sense for when his daughter is upset. 

 

“Everything okay? I thought I saw Ted…”

 

“Yeah, it’s fine. Just, growing pains, I guess.” 

 

He searches her face for something deeper than the excuse, but doesn’t push.

 

“Transitions are always hard, sweetheart. He’ll come around.” 

 

She shrugs, not entirely sure that’s the result she wants. 

 

“And if he doesn’t, he’ll have me to deal with.” 

 

He winks, although she’s not yet heard the man raise his voice. Her mother though, she could rip Ted a new asshole.

 

It’s a comforting thought.

 

Her parents insist that Maia stay the night, the whole weekend, even, but she just wants to be alone right now. Or at least in the company of someone who doesn’t much care about her emotional well-being. 

 

It’s late enough when she returns home that John’s guests have, for the most part left. She tries to be quiet, but the clack of her heels on the hardwood wakes John and Amy, sprawled out on the sofa. 

 

John wolf-whistles, still half-drunk. 

 

“You look nice, Maia,” Amy remarks, awe coloring her voice. 

 

Maia looks down self-consciously at her emerald dress and four inch pumps, clutch dangling uselessly from her wrist. 

 

“My parents had a thing… strict dress code, you know how it is.” 

 

“Watch out Maia,” John sing-songs, “Amy has a thing for redheads.” 

 

The blonde turns to him, annoyed. 

 

“She has a boyfriend,” she whispers exaggeratedly. 

 

“Since when has that stopped you before?” 

 

“That was high school! And I told you that  _ in confidence. Law School-Friend Privilege”  _

 

“Oooookayyyy, I’ll leave you two to it…” Maia backs out of the living room. 

 

She can’t lie- the thought that someone as gorgeous as Amy would find her attractive is extremely flattering (even if John is a very loose-lipped drunk). 

 

She exchanges her satin for sweatpants, and climbs into bed, not quite ready for sleep. 

 

One thing keeps popping up in her thoughts. 

 

Amy never denied anything. 

 

Oh, and she  _ does  _ have a boyfriend. 

 

_ Fuck.  _

_

 

She wakes to a flurry of apology texts from Ted. 

 

_ i was out of line last night. sorry.  _

 

_ let me make it up to you? brunch?  _

 

_ i’ll even make pancakes. chocolate chip ;)  _

 

Sent two hours ago. She sets the phone on her nightstand and ventures to the kitchen. 

 

Amy is making coffee, still in last night’s jeans. 

 

She smiles, bleary-eyed, handing her a mug. 

 

“I don’t remember you coming in last night.” 

(Her voice is raspy with sleep and booze. Maia shivers involuntarily.) 

 

“You don’t?” 

 

Amy looks at her for a moment, confused, before realization dawns on her face. 

 

“ _ Oh. _ I sort of half-thought I dreamed that…” she blushes. “I hope I didn’t make too much of an ass of myself.” 

 

“Oh, no, that was all John, rest assured,” Maia smirks. 

 

Amy laughs and all thoughts of Ted and the mess that is her relationship evaporate. 

 

“He thinks he’s a good wingman, bless his heart.” 

 

There’s a slight twang in Amy’s tired voice that wasn’t present when first they met. 

 

“Sorry- are you from the south?” 

 

Amy takes a long sip from her coffee, and shakes herself alert. 

 

“Oh, god, I usually hide it pretty well, but apparently when I’m drunk or hungover it comes out. North Carolina, at least, not like, Alabama or Mississippi or some shit.” 

 

“I won’t hold it against you,” Maia winks. 

 

(She… is not a winker. Nor is she generally interested in where other people grew up. Frankly, she’s entirely unsure why she didn’t just say thanks for the coffee and run back upstairs to hide in her room all day. And yet she can’t bring herself to leave.” 

 

“Do you want breakfast?” 

 

Amy looks shocked, like the idea of Maia cooking never occurred to her. 

 

“I actually make pretty good pancakes,” she confesses. 

 

“Chocolate chip is my specialty.” 

 

Amy leans against the wall, impressed. 

 

“That actually sounds fucking amazing. So yes, I do want breakfast. On one condition.” 

 

Maia raises an eyebrow. 

“We eat them all before John wakes up.” 

_

 

Amy is offering advice on her professors when they’re interrupted by a pounding on the door. 

 

Sensing who it is, Maia’s tempted to ignore it, but Amy’s visible discomfort isn’t worth it. 

 

As soon as she turns the lock Ted marches past her. 

 

“I called you  _ ten times  _ Maia- you could have at least fucking picked up.” 

 

“Good morning to you, too,” she mumbles. 

 

“I mean, honestly, you won’t even let me apologize?” 

 

He stops in his tracks when he reaches the kitchen and takes in the sight of Amy, chewing on pancakes and attempting to disappear into her chair. 

 

“Oh my god. You actually are a fucking dyke.” 

 

He turns to Maia, anger burning in his eyes. 

 

“So this is why you wouldn’t stay with me, huh? Why you wouldn’t move in together? Because you wanted to keep on cheating?” 

 

“It’s not at all like that,” Maia interrupts, her voice chilly and distant. 

 

“What is it like then? You just want to avoid me for no reason?” 

 

“You know what?  Maybe that  _ is _ it. If you’re going to act like this, I  _ don’t  _ want to be around you.” 

 

His jaw literally drops. 

 

“You can’t just  _ decide  _ unilaterally that we’re suddenly broken up, no warning.” 

 

“No, actually, I can. And I think I just did.” 

 

He looks between her and Amy again, scorn twisting his face into something unrecognizable, before turning on his heels.

 

“Un fucking believable.” 

 

He slams the door behind him, and Maia stands frozen in silence for a moment. 

 

Then she sees the flowers Ted threw onto the floor, and the floodgates burst. 

 

John trudges downstairs, visibly annoyed. 

 

“What in the actual hell just woke me up?” 

 

Seeing Maia’s distress, Amy springs into action, placing a hand gently on Maia’s lower back and nudging her upstairs. 

  
“I’ll explain. Pancakes?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your thoughts and headcanons are always welcome and appreciated! 
> 
> i'm on tumblr too @blueblue-baby if that's ur thing


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maia copes... perhaps not as maturely as she should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh i am nervous about what this flashback on sunday is gonna do for my canon compliance so i didn't want to go tooooo far with this chapter! 
> 
> (My interpretation was that Maia came out after breaking up with Ted, and he implicated Amy in her revelation, so...)

Maia doesn’t leave her room until evening, when even her angst and humiliation can no longer outweigh the growling of her stomach. 

 

That said, it’s definitely depression dinner. 

 

John frowns at her bowl of cereal. 

 

“Can I at least order you a pizza? I mean, lean into the heartache, right?  _ Savor it.” _

 

She shakes her head, eyes scarcely leaving the table. 

 

“I’m fine. More embarrassed than anything. Not like I was gonna marry the guy.” 

 

She pushes her tongue against the inside of her cheek. 

 

_ Really dodged a bullet there, huh?  _

 

John shrugs. 

 

“Even when you’re dating an asshole, it still sucks to get dumped.” 

 

Maia laughs bitterly. 

 

“You can say that again. I mean, he really made up for lost time on the asshole front.” 

 

John snickers. 

 

“What?” 

 

“Asshole front. It’s an exceptional turn of phrase, and horrendous mental image. You have a  _ gift.  _ “

 

Maia rolls her eyes, welcoming the mild embarrassment of her flub of the tongue compared to this morning’s fiasco.

 

“And as far as mortification goes, I think Amy has you beat. When her ex walked in on her, she actually was in bed with someone. Who happened to be his sister.” 

 

He sighs wistfully. 

 

“It really is a coming out story for the ages.” 

 

“Are you telling me this so I have dirt on Amy should she attempt blackmail?” 

 

“Nah, she’s not the type. Too pure hearted, honestly. I, on the other hand…” 

 

Maia rinses her bowl and prepares to recommit to solitude. 

 

“I’ve seen your bathroom, John. That’s blackmail enough.” 

 

_

 

In a way, the breakup is perfect timing. 

 

1L is an excellent distraction from processing her thoughts and feelings around Ted and his… accusations. 

 

She reads until the text is burned into her eyelids, until sleep comes instantly, with a vengeance. 

 

But damn if dreams don’t have a way of bringing it all out. 

 

Maia’s in her bed, but she’s not alone. 

 

She feels soft lips on the inside of her thigh, fingernails lightly raking across the concave of her stomach. And when she looks down to see who on earth could be making her feel  _ so good, _ she sees Amy’s face, same smile as the day they met. 

 

“What’s so funny?” 

 

(Maia somehow manages to rasp out the question between shallow gasps.) 

 

Amy’s eyes just sparkle more, her smile baring brilliant white teeth. 

“Isn’t it a little funny, how you were gay this whole fucking time and you didn’t even know it?” 

 

(Maia doesn’t find it funny at all, actually, but that doesn’t deter Dream Amy.) 

 

“But I knew it. I know  _ you,” _ Amy husks, before diving back down to finish what she started. 

_ 

 

There are many rational explanations for the dream. 

 

Projection, for starters. Amy happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and apparently Maia’s subconscious just transferred everything she once felt for Ted onto the unsuspecting stranger in her kitchen. 

 

(there might be a point, too, about the sexuality thing, but, again, transference. )

 

Regardless of how reasonable the dream itself may be, Maia’s reaction isn’t, really. 

 

She devises a litany of ways to never be at the apartment. Joining student organizations, camping out in the library, spending weekends at home. 

 

(Her mother is, frankly, thrilled that she and Ted have split.) 

 

_ “Are you sure it’s for good,” _ she presses, before launching into a tirade about how she never really liked the smug bastard anyway and her little girl deserved better and who knows  _ who _ she would end up with next and maybe everyone in the universe knows Maia better than she knows herself. 

 

“I’m kind of looking forward to being single, honestly. More time to study. That’s half the reason we split, anyway, Ted was jealous of my textbooks.” 

 

Her father proffers a glass of scotch, toasting with his perpetual optimism. 

 

“To new opportunities.” 

_

 

Old friends come out of the woodwork after news of the breakup permeates their social circle. She got more than one offer for a night on the town to celebrate singledom, but the thought of dancing with strangers or being drunk in public just makes her feel a bit squeamish at the moment. 

 

Besides, it’s the end of the quarter, and exams loom high. 

 

Maia sequesters a table in the law library, and works in companionable silence with a few classmates, broken only by mumbled questions about citations and comparing of notes. 

 

Until a hand taps gently on her shoulder, and everyone but her takes extreme notice. 

 

“You looked like you could use a caffeine fix, and it was on my way, so…” 

 

Amy tilts her head nonchalantly, as if to say ‘I bring acquaintances coffee all the time, it’s just who i am, don’t read too much into it.’ 

 

Maia sits, stunned for a second, before taking the cup from Amy’s manicured hand. 

 

(She’s not sure what burns more- the Americano’s steam, or the brush of Amy’s thumb along the inside of her wrist.)

 

“That’s really thoughtful of you...  Thanks,” Maia nods, torn between returning to her studies (and ignoring the pounding of her heart) and returning Amy’s easy smile. 

 

“It’s nothing. Anyways, I don’t want to interrupt your studying- I know how that feels, but, I just wanted to say hey. I’ve missed seeing you around the apartment.” 

 

Maia shrugs, feeling about half a foot tall. 

 

“It’s kind of baptism by fire, you know?” 

 

Amy nods. She looks ready to pose a question, but shakes off the notion.

 

“Well, if you ever decide to slack off, give a shout,” she winks, before walking away and joining her own better, smarter, older study group. 

 

Maia’s classmates stare, mouths open. 

 

“You blew it, dude,” Michael scoffs, leaning back, hands cradling his head. 

 

“Excuse me?” 

 

“That girl? Basically asked you out, and you just took her fuckin’ coffee without a second glance.” 

 

“It’s not… I’m n- That is not what just happened.” 

 

“No, no, Mike is oblivious about most things, but he was on the money with that,” Katherine opines. “She was obviously setting you up to offer to return the favor.” 

 

Maia puts her hands up in protest. 

 

“I’ll be the first to admit that my social graces sometimes leave something to be desired. Can we focus on not failing right now?” 

 

Her mind wanders, as the others easily return to information overload.  She surreptitiously pulls her phone out, hastily sending a text before she can change her mind. 

 

_ I might have to take you up on that offer, actually.  _

 

Maybe she could do with a bit of reckless abandon. 

  
For scientific purposes, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ur thoughts r gold 
> 
> <3 <3 <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> obligatory bar scene?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO LAST WEEK'S EP THREW ME FOR A LOOP and i have a lot of feelings about it 
> 
> but keeping on with my original basic outline 
> 
> (know that i'm also completely flying by the seat of my pants, so, who knows where we'll end up)

Angela demands access to Maia’s closet before she will venture anywhere in public with her, much less with the sole objective of ‘ _ tapping ass,’  _ as she so eloquently puts it. 

 

“If I’m going to be your wingwoman, my job can’t be  _ impossible _ . Besides, we gotta make you look the part.” 

 

(She’d taken it in stride when Maia admitted that although the circumstances were off, Ted might have been on-the-mark in his assessment of her sexuality. But, you know, she kind of wanted empirical evidence to that effect beyond pervy dreams about her roommate’s friend.) 

 

“Where did you even find that flannel shirt?” 

 

“I’m going to need you to ask fewer questions and follow more directions.” 

 

Maia sighs, but relents. 

 

Normally for a night on the town, she’d don a nice dress, heels, full face. But Angela insists that, for one, she absolutely cannot look like a  _ fucking Rindell  _ and two, butching it up is the only way she won’t be laughed out of a queer bar. 

 

She’d actually met Angela through Ted in undergrad- she was the archetypal free spirit artist, unconstrained by conventional circadian rhythms, normative fashion, or compulsory heterosexuality. 

 

(In retrospect, Maia had probably been more than a little crushed out on her. A lot of things have been making more sense, lately.) 

 

They’d grown apart in the last 6 months or so, but once the gossip reached her, Angela quickly reached out, explaining that she’d always kind of thought Ted was a tool, and she had officially declared herself #TeamMaia to any and all interested parties. 

 

It’s nice to have an ally, even if she insists you wear leather pants. 

 

“I swear if you put me in combat boots, I’m out,” Maia threatens. 

 

Angela lays a hand gently on her shoulder. 

 

“Boo boo, getting you  _ out  _ is the whole point. And no, I’ll permit a chelsea boot, only because I don’t trust you not to trip over laces.” 

 

Maia rolls her eyes, but dutifully applies eyeliner as Angela slicks her hair back in some sort of pomaded-pompadour approximation. 

 

(She looks more than a little bit like Kristen Stewart. Fuck it, at least she won’t be recognized.) 

 

The rules, naturally, don’t apply to Angela. She has impossibly high neon pumps, and a silvery dress that manages to both drape loosely over her body and hug it impossibly close. And purple lipstick (‘because confidence is the only prerequisite for style,’ she explains). 

  
  


A shot of tequila bolsters them for the journey into the great unknown, and then they’re off, Angela coaching her through the prospective evening. 

 

“Okay, so you’re really just trying to see if you  _ physically  _ dig women, so keep the conversation to a minimum. Monosyllabic if possible, revealing nothing about yourself. Eye contact is everything.” 

 

“So, be the opposite of myself?” 

 

Maia groans. 

 

“Look, you like this Amy character?” 

 

Maia nods, blushing at the very thought of her. 

 

“Then you don’t want to go forming attachments to randos at clubs. Our mission is simple: drink, dance, kiss strangers, and spite the hell out of Theodore Acker Byrne.” 

 

She can toast to that. 

_

 

Angela is kind of scary good at luring women their way. A siren of Sappho. With enough booze and exhaustion in her system, Maia just shrugs and smiles, joining each one for a song or two. It feels different than the clumsy experiences of dancing with boys at parties, or awkwardly waltzing at one of her parents’ events. Moving against a woman feels familiar, intuitive, in a way that it never has with men. 

 

A lithe brunette grins at her in a way that borders on predatory, but she doesn’t mind. It doesn’t make her want to crawl out of her skin in the way that unwelcome leering gazes do. 

 

The kiss is a mix of effort and instinct- riding a bike without training wheels for the first time. Exhilarating, graceful, and too scary to continue forever. 

 

“Thanks,” Maia backs away, “but I really should get back to my friends.” 

 

The woman shrugs, clearly more than aware that her pickings tonight are far from slim, if the throng of bodies surrounding them is any indication. 

 

Angela greets her with a self-satisfied smirk at the bar. 

 

“Scale of one to ten- how gay are you?” 

 

“Eleven. But I’m also like a 7.5 on the intoxicated scale, so my inhibitions are like, whoooooo”

 

Maia waves her arm lackadaisically, narrowly missing knocking over her neighbor’s glass. 

 

“Oh, fuck, I’m sooooo sorry.” 

 

(Okay, maybe she’s at an eight.) 

 

“Don’t worry about it,” the voice responds without turning her head, until blonde hair whips around in a double-take. 

 

“Maia?” 

 

“Amy! I didn’t expect to see you here- I mean, why wouldn’t I, it’s a big city but not that big, especially for women who date women I guess, but what would I know-” 

 

“I’m Angela.” 

 

Wingwoman of the Year steps in before Maia can further embarrass herself, placing an arm protectively around the redhead. 

 

Amy eyes them suspiciously, equal parts confused and affronted. 

 

“It’s nice to meet you,” she offers, convincingly enough, although the glare she directs at Angela tells a different story. 

 

“Have a nice night, Maia.” 

 

Her voice softens, before she returns to her date/hookup/drinking buddy. 

 

Maia slumps, the thrill of the evening evaporated, leaving behind only a film of inebriation and discomfort. 

 

“Can we go home? I need to wash my hair.” 

_ 

 

The chill of the night air is sobering, wind doing it’s best to undo the hold of Maia’s hair product. 

 

“Well, we achieved our goals, right?” 

 

Angela attempts optimism, despite Maia’s sudden terse silence. 

 

“Yup. Gay. And an Idiot.” 

 

“Okay, first of all, Amy is a babe, so, good for you. And secondly, she looked like she wanted to strangle me with her bare hands, so I really don’t think you have to worry about that.” 

 

“You really think so?” 

 

Maia is strangely heartened by the prospect of Angela’s grisly death. 

 

“You could look a little less thrilled about that, but yeah. I’d say you have solidly gotten over your breakup, girl.” 

 

Maia has to agree. 

 

“Thanks. I owe you. Legitimate fun, not babysitting me.” 

 

Angela shrugs. 

 

“It’s fine. I got like four numbers while you were out doing your thing. Call me when you’re ready to double date.”

 

She sees her off with a wink and a hug, and Maia somehow makes it from the front door to her bed. 

  
(Her hair is still crusty when she wakes.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks, as always, for reading! 
> 
> CAN'T WAIT FOR THIS FINALEEEE


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fluffy fluff fluff 
> 
> (amy's are asked out. numbers are exchanged. flirting happens. )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY LACK OF AMY IN THAT FINALE! 
> 
> hope this makes up for it :) 
> 
> (but really tho, would u read my maia/lucca crackfic if it were to spontaneously generate? i like to keep my options open)

 

Maia has never had a better shower in her life. As she rinses the vestiges of last night’s makeup, sweat, and smoke off of her, snippets of memory return. 

 

The feel of kissing another woman. 

 

The rush of music, and alcohol, and a sea of anonymous bodies. 

 

The sudden nausea at seeing Amy. 

 

(Okay, maybe the nausea isn’t just a memory.) 

 

She fully intends to atone for last night’s transgressions with a day in the law library and dinner with her parents- you can take the girl out of Catholic school, but the guilt follows her around for the rest of her days. 

 

Her march out the door is stopped by John’s sing-song interrogation. 

 

“I heard you had  _ quite  _ the time last night.” 

 

“Believe it or not, I do on occasion do normal young person things, yes.” 

 

He raises an eyebrow. 

 

“I’m not sure gay bars are  _ normal  _ per se, but, touche. I thought you were just kind of repressed, but, I guess I owe Amy fifty bucks.” 

 

Anger floods heat to her cheeks. 

 

“Wow. Did it ever occur to you to, I don’t know, ask? Instead of placing bets on my sexual orientation? Which, by the way, is actually none of your business.” 

 

He raises his hands in surrender. 

 

“It was a joke, I’m sorry.” 

 

For the first time in their acquaintanceship, he looks genuinely sympathetic.

“I know how hard it can be to figure everything out, and I would never out anyone who wasn’t already there themselves.” 

 

Maia flops down on the couch. The books can wait another fifteen minutes. 

 

“I just feel so stupid. For missing so many clues, wasting so much time. How could anyone not know such an important part of themselves?” 

 

John shrugs, popping a grape in his mouth.

 

“Compulsory heterosexuality is a bitch. Especially for women- the whole idea that only men are supposed to enjoy sex? I mean, think of how many women trapped in passionless marriages were probably queer?” 

 

Maia shudders at the thought of a lifetime shackled to Ted. 

 

“I don’t even know what to do now.” 

 

“Live your life. Be open to possibilities you weren’t before. Enjoy sex without the risk of pregnancy.” 

 

She laughs, but it feels tight, squeezed out rather than given freely. 

 

“Thank you, oh great knower of all things gay.” 

 

“It’s sort of my gift.” 

 

“Do you-” 

 

She starts to ask about Amy, whether she should ask her out, or bring her coffee, or hide forever and pretend they never met, but it feels like an overstep. Like she might not want the answer he gives. 

 

“Never mind. Thanks, again. And yeah, I think you definitely owe Amy that money.” 

_ 

That period between Thanksgiving and the New Year is always a blur of events, ostensible demonstrations of charity that feel more like ego stroking than anything else. Angela texts her about any successive run-ins with “the hot blonde who wanted to kill me” but her days are chock full of everything but Amy. 

 

If their past encounters hadn’t been almost purely coincidental, she would say she was being avoided, but there’s no evidence to support the claim. 

The second quarter, however, brings with it opportunity. 

 

“Hey, so Amy and I both made it to the second round of Moot Court. You should check it out- good to see what the best of the best do in year two and three,” John winks. 

 

“I can’t wait to watch her beat you,” Maia grins. 

 

She’d expected nothing less, but damn, Amy is  _ good.  _ All cool confidence and incisive questioning, despite the superficial silliness of the case. 

 

(A property damage dispute between Mr. Wolf and the Pig family.) 

 

John’s charm is evident as always, but where he’s a ruthless charmer, Amy is a cold-blooded killer. 

 

(It’s obnoxiously hot.) 

 

Afterwards, scrambles to fetch coffees while the contestants and their supporters mingle. She manages to return just as Amy is buttoning up her coat, preparing to face the cold. 

 

“Amy!” 

 

(She was trying for effortless cool, but the exertion of scrambling all over campus just gives her voice a desperate edge.) 

 

“Maia? Hey.” 

 

(She doesn’t think she’ll ever get over how easily Amy smiles. Like she has no idea how valuable her grin is- she just gives it away freely at the drop of a hat. ) 

 

Maia offers the steaming cup in her right hand. 

 

“I owe you a coffee.” 

 

Amy shrugs, but her smile widens. 

 

“I wasn’t necessarily intending a quid pro quo, but given how cold it is, I won’t say no. Probably don’t need the caffeine given all the adrenaline in my system, but, at this point, I’m pretty much immune to it anyway.” 

 

“You were fantastic, by the way. Seriously. I had no idea you were such a badass.” 

 

Amy laughs, simultaneously bashful and rightfully proud of herself. 

“I am planning on being a prosecutor, so I’ve gotten pretty good at the whole intimidation thing.” 

 

Maia feels her eyes glaze over a bit, her tongue unconsciously running over her teeth. 

 

“Well, I would hate to be on the wrong side of the law.” 

 

“No offense, but you don’t really seem like the type.” 

 

Maia shrugs. 

 

“I’ll have you know I’m full of surprises.” 

 

“I’ll bet.” 

 

They stand, sipping for a moment, neither willing to make eye contact. Maia thinks back to John’s advice, Angela’s incessant ribbing, and the way her eyes scan every inch of this campus for the woman currently in front of her.

 

“Would you want to get dinner sometime?” 

 

(Her voice only cracks once as she asks. Easily blamed on the cold.) 

 

Amy looks equal parts surprised and expectant- like she’s known this whole time that they would end up here, yet never fully believed Maia would ever gather her nerve. 

 

“I think I would, yeah.” 

 

Maia grins, unable to stop anything short of a full-on cheek-splitter. 

 

“Here, put your number in my phone and we can text out the details.” 

 

Maia does as she’s told, and Amy calls her so she can save her contact. 

 

“I’ve got to run, celebratory dinner and all that,” Amy gestures vaguely to the parking lot. 

 

“Right, you’ve certainly earned it.” 

 

Before she turns away completely, Amy places her hand gently on top of Maia’s. 

 

“I’m free on Friday.” 

 

Her skin tingles, gloves be damned. 

 

Maia spends a good deal of the rest of her night staring at her phone screen, trying to think of something witty or charming to say, or even a restaurant suggestion. 

 

She types and erases, hoping to god that Amy doesn’t see the tell-tale ellipsis. 

 

Eventually she just settles for bland-get-to-know you fare. 

 

_ Dietary Restrictions?  _

 

**_Vegetarian._ **

 

_ Noted.  _

 

**_You’re a lot better at flirting in person, you know that?_ **

 

_ Well, good thing I’m not taking you on a text date, huh?  _

 

**_Well, now I owe John $50. Didn’t think you’d actually call it one until after we’ve kissed._ **

 

_ If you two could stop wagering money on me that would be great, thanks.  _

 

(She doesn’t know whether to be incensed or flattered at the fact that Amy’s been talking about her at all. Much less talking about kissing her.) 

 

**_It’d be unfair at this point. I’d have a distinct advantage._ **

 

_ I don’t know, he’s seen me half-naked already.  _

 

**_I never thought I’d be jealous of him, and yet, here we are. But can we please talk about anything else but John?_ **

 

_ Gladly. Do you expect to be wined and dined, or would you prefer more casual fare? _

 

**_I get the feeling you have enough Black Tie in your life as is- let’s start low-key and work our way from there._ **

 

_ I like the way you think ;)  _

 

**_That doesn’t get you off the hook as far as effort goes, though. Don’t phone it in, Rindell._ **

 

She types and deletes a couple responses, about how she could never, in a million years do anything but obsess over this date. How she honestly can’t quite believe this conversation is even happening right now but she will do her best to return to her corporeal form before Friday. 

She eventually settles for something a little less vulnerable. 

 

_ Amy, it’s NOT a text date. No phones involved whatsoever. Just you, me, and a delicious, meat-free meal.  _

 

**_The stuff of dreams. And on that note, good night :D_ **

  
If she can manage not to spontaneously combust before Friday, she just might have a shot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gonna be a long hiatus, y'all. Thanks for joining in on the trip!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DATE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think i'm going to leave this here for now- Canon sort of killed my imagination lol. Hope this ties things up nicely for ya!

 

“Picking me up? And you didn’t even loiter on the street and honk. You really know how to treat a lady.” 

 

Maia blushes, despite Amy’s benevolent sarcasm. 

 

“Sorry I forgot your corsage.” 

 

Amy’s laughter fills up the car, and for a moment Maia could swear the wheels leave the ground entirely. 

 

“I never went to my prom, actually. Did you?” 

 

“Yep. It sucked. You didn’t miss much.” 

 

“I would wager a guess that you don’t like formalwear, but given your family…” 

 

“Yeah, it was more the silliness of it all than having to wear a dress.” 

 

“You wear dresses very well.” 

 

“You should see how well I don’t wear them.” 

 

She’s not sure where this sudden boldness, this overwhelming urge to charm, nay  _ seduce _ Amy is coming from, but it feels good. The warm buzz after a glass of red wine when you haven’t eaten all day. 

 

“I had no idea you were so incorrigible, Maia!  _ I like it _ ,” Amy whispers into her ear, before departing the parked car.” 

 

_

 

“Vegan comfort food. You done good, Rindell,” Amy compliments over a pile of french fries and what appears to be the world’s largest veggie burger. 

 

“I won’t admit how long I spent on ChumHum then,” she shrugs. 

 

“Research is a good thing, it shows you’re invested.” 

 

“So you don’t find it pathetic that I wanted to impress you?” 

 

“No, it’s sweet. You’re sweet.” 

 

(Maia thinks her skin might be permanently pink after this night.)

 

It’s strange, being alone with Amy like this, without the expectation of interruption. 

 

Without the expectation of anything, really. She can’t remember the last time she felt like someone didn’t want  _ something  _ from her. 

 

“How long have you been vegetarian?”

 

Amy starts talking about an ethics course her freshman year of college, which leads to a discussion of undergrad, which leads to milkshakes and the check being paid. 

 

“We moved to Evanston from Chapel Hill when I was in high school, and once I got used to the winters, I fell in love with Chicago.” 

 

“They aren’t for the faint of heart,” Maia agrees, shuddering against the cold. 

 

“If it was warmer I’d suggest a walk, but I’m afraid you would never forgive me under the current circumstances.” 

 

Amy smiles, tilting her head as if weighing her options.

 

“I’ve got all the makings for hot toddies at my place. Could I repay you for dinner with booze?” 

 

“That sounds nice.” 

 

Silence surrounds them as Maia drives back to Amy’s apartment, tense, but exhilaratingly so. 

 

Amy rests her arm on the center console, fingertips innocently brushing against the top of Maia’s thigh.

 

(At this point, Maia has entirely given up on any attempt to form words.) 

“I really enjoyed tonight.” 

 

“Mmmhmmm?” 

 

“I don’t want it to be over.” 

 

“Uh-huh?” 

 

(Maia somehow manages to parallel park in Amy’s neighborhood without crashing her, or anyone else’s car.) 

  
  


Amy grabs her hand and rubs her thumb across Maia’s knuckles, waiting, willing, for the redhead to meet her eyes. 

 

Maia clears her throat, and goes for the gold. 

 

“Do I remember correctly that kissing was mentioned as part of this evening?” 

 

Amy grins devilishly before leaning in, full lips meeting Maia’s. 

 

“You have an excellent memory, Rindell.” 

 

Maia sits, dazed for a moment, as Amy exits the sedan. 

 

“Are you coming up, or what?” 

_ 

 

The hot toddies never get made- Maia is buzzing with a warmth she’s never felt before, and she doesn’t need alcohol to lower her inhibitions tonight. 

 

As soon as they’re inside the door, she pushes Amy against the wall, running on instinct and endorphins and  _ freedom.  _

 

“Does this make me a slut?” 

 

(Afterwards, in a haze of sleep and oxytocin, body heat and cotton sheets.) 

 

“Ugh, I hate that word. “

 

(Amy wrenches her face in disgust and Maia wants to kiss that wrinkled brow until her mouth goes numb. )

 

“And no, not unless you feel like ascribing to traditional courtship convention, in which case I think the fact that you just had sex with a woman is more of an indictment than sleeping together on the first date.” 

 

Maia lays her head against the pillow, grinning like an idiot. 

 

“Worth it.” 

 

Amy returns her smile, propping up on an elbow.

“Now doing it twice- that might make you a slut.” 

 

“Well then, just call me Slutty McSlutterstein from here on out.” 

 

(Counting the morning after, the final tally is four times. It’s a very auspicious start.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for your interest and comments! I'm currently Quinndell-obsessed, so, read that shit if you like it, if not, all apologies. 
> 
> May the months until s2 pass quickly <3

**Author's Note:**

> To my knowledge, Maia's educational background isn't mentioned? Headcanon undergrad at Northwestern, Law School at University of Chicago. But let's be real, details are incidental to ladies kissing ladies. 
> 
> Comments are always muchly appreciated!


End file.
